


Sex and Blood

by aralias



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pon Farr, Vampires, Watford Seventh Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19791214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: Baz is a vampire. Simon knows Baz is a vampire and Baz knows that Simon knows. What Baz doesn’t know is what being a vampire actually means. And that’s about to make life more difficult for him than usual.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finished! 
> 
> Fuck or Die is one of my favourite tropes and obviously I love writing about vampire sex :) If you have any requests for smut fics that _aren't_ about Baz being a vampire feel free to send them to me. I don't promise to write anything - but I love other people's ideas. 
> 
> Enjoy the fic. Your comments are appreciated :D

**SIMON**

There’s something wrong with Baz.

I mean, there are _lots_ of things wrong with Baz. He’s a prick, for one thing. And he’s a vampire. And sometimes when he laughs he makes a funny snorting sound. (Although not often. Mostly it’s a cruel laugh. Elegant. He probably practices it in front of the mirror. Prick.)

This is something else, though. He’s been distracted for about a week.

I don’t like it when Baz is distracted. When he’s glaring at me, at least I know he’s just thinking about how I’m ignorant or “uncouth”. Or how it’s a disgrace to the World of Mages that I’m supposed to be its saviour.

When he’s distracted, I know he’s thinking up new ways to get me killed.

Yesterday, he couldn’t sit still in any of our classes. He actually left in the middle of Magic Words – just walked out, without even asking. He never does that. Not once in almost seven years. (He wouldn’t want to miss out on anything anyone else was learning – Penny’s the same.)

When he came back about ten minutes later, he didn’t even take notes. (Neither did I, I was too busy watching him. Waiting to see if he’d give any clues about where he’d been, which he didn’t.) I caught up with him on the way out and tried to get it out of him, what he’d been doing, what the plan was. Sometimes he lets something slip by accident when he thinks he’s insulting me, so it’s always worth asking.

This time, though, he didn’t even try to make me feel small or stupid; he just slammed me back into the wall.

“Mind your own bloody business, Snow.”

I shoved him back. “You _are_ my business. I know what you’re planning.”

Baz laughed, although I noticed he wasn’t making eye-contact. He was looking down, towards my shoulder, and the laugh wasn’t the normal evil laugh, or the snorty one. It was a weird panicky breathless laugh that I’ve never heard from Baz before.

“And what _am_ I planning?”

Before I could answer (I didn’t know what he was up to, obviously, but I’m good at guessing), Miss Possibelf came to break us up. And to yell at Baz, I think, for walking out of her class, although she made me turn the corner before she did it, so I didn’t get to watch.

When I saw him again in Astronomy, Baz wasn’t wearing his school blazer. He didn’t even have it with him. (And I know that probably seems like nothing, but Baz always wears his blazer in class even when it’s boiling. He says it’s because he’s got standards.) He must have taken it off over lunch and then left it somewhere.

“It’s just not like him,” I explained to Penny over dinner. She didn’t answer. She also flat out refused to come with me to Baz’s football practice, but I knew I was onto something real when he didn’t turn up. Gareth had to sub in for him.

I eventually found him in our shower. I mean – I didn’t find him _in_ the shower. The door to the bathroom was locked but there was water running and when I hammered on the door, he yelled at me to piss off and leave him alone.

I know that seems normal. But the thing is, Baz never showers in the evening. Not unless he’s been playing football, which he hadn’t been. Even then, he usually uses the ones near the pitch. He doesn’t like being dirty. And neither of us like showering when the other might be around.

Maybe he needed to wash something off. Blood, maybe. (Although he might just lick that off – he is a vampire.) Or a potion.

I had a look around the bathroom once he was out of it (it took him about an hour. How can anyone spend an hour in a bathroom?) but Baz is good at destroying evidence and I didn’t find anything. And he was asleep once I got out. Not even pretending. Actually asleep. Like he’d had a really tiring day.

He didn’t even shut the window so I did it for him.

This morning is worse though. This morning Baz isn’t just distracted; he isn’t even here. I’ve had two classes already today, and Baz should have been in both of them.

“He probably just overslept,” Penny says when I point out how suspicious this is. (As though the idea of Baz oversleeping _isn’t_ suspicious.) “Or maybe he got called away for a family thing. You did tell me his stepmother’s pregnant.”

I suppose Baz _could_ just be worried about his stepmother. That would explain how distracted he’s been.

But it doesn’t explain the late-night shower. And it doesn’t explain why the teachers called Baz’s name in class today, why they didn’t seem to know where he was. If he’d been taken out of school, his parents would have had to tell Miss Possibelf. Which means the teachers would’ve been told. Even the Pitches follow rules like that.

Something’s wrong, I know it. He’s up to something.

I just need to find out what it is.

**BAZ**

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I know fuck-all about vampires. (It’s a matter of principle. If I’m not a vampire, I don’t need to know anything about them.) But one of the few things I thought I _did_ know was that vampires don’t get sick.

I’ve been to the infirmary several times over the years, but never from natural causes. I’ve never so much as caught a cold. I don’t know what it’s like to be ill – although I imagine it’s something like what I’m feeling right now.

I ache. And I’m thirsty. And I’m hot. I closed the window last night as usual, but once Snow left this morning for breakfast, I opened it again. And I shut the curtains – for some reason the light hurts far more this morning than it ever has before. I know I need to get up, shower, and go to class. But I don’t have the energy.

Snow wakes me up at lunchtime. Crashing the door open, and then crashing into his own bed, even though it hasn’t moved since he left this morning. It isn’t that dark in here, even with the curtains shut – although Snow promptly opens them.

“What’s going on?” he demands. “Why aren’t you in class?”

He actually yanks the covers off my bed and I curl into my pillow to get away from the light.

“Fuck off, Snow. I’m dying.”

“You’re sick?” He sounds surprised.

I open my eyes to sneer at him, but apparently I can’t manage it. I can’t think of a single cutting thing to say, either. One of the other things I definitely know about vampires is that there must be some twisted link between sex and blood wired into us, because while (on a bad day) I’d happily drain most of my classmates, there’s only one person I dream about biting. Daydream about. And it’s the same person I dream about kissing. The same person whose looming over me now.

I spent most of yesterday sneaking out to the catacombs to try and fill myself up on rats, but I still almost savaged him when he grabbed me after Magic Words. It was a struggle to look away from his throat.

It’s still a struggle.

Snow doesn’t close the collar of his shirt properly. Ever. Or pull his tie tight. So as usual there’s an obscene gap between the fabric of his shirt and the skin of his neck that draws my eyes downward, following the trail of his carotid artery.

“I’m sick,” I agree.

More than usual. The sick desire to cram my teeth into Simon Snow’s throat isn’t new. The only thing that’s changed is that I think I might actually do it. And that – fortunately for Snow – I’m probably too weak to do it.

“But vampires don’t get sick,” Snow insists.

Sometimes I forget he isn’t completely unobservant. He’s probably the only person in this school to work out what I am (not that he’s managed to convince anyone else to actually _check)._ We’ve lived together seven years and he must have come to at least some of the same conclusions I have about my condition. Perhaps he’s even worked things out about me that I haven’t, although I doubt it.

He’s still looming over me. Hands on his hips. And, for some reason, even more beautiful than ever.

My hand snaps out before I can stop it. I grab his tie – and pull him down towards me. I’m not sure why. Except that I want to.

I must be delirious. That happens when you’re ill. Or perhaps I’m just more than usually susceptible to the sight of Simon Snow glowering at me. I can’t kiss him if he’s standing over me. I can’t sink my teeth into him. He needs to be _close._

“Well, then, I must not be a vampire,” I hiss.

Snow’s eyes are wide. (And so blue. A normal, boring blue that still manages to take my breath away.) He doesn’t even remind me about the Anathema. He’s just speechless – and for good reason. What am I doing? (I don’t know what I’m doing.) I tighten his tie for him and let him go. He steps back.

“You’re faking,” Snow says doggedly. “This is a plot. You need to be alone up here. You’re doing something. What is it?”

I don’t have the energy for this. I can feel unconsciousness coming to claim me again. I welcome it.

“Just piss off,” I say. Pathetically.

Snow shakes his head. “Whatever it is, I’m stopping it.” I hear him sit down on his own bed. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to sit here as long as I have to until I find out what it is.”

**SIMON**

I watch Baz sleep for almost an hour.

After that it seems a bit weird and stalker-ish and I stop. Penny says I’m already quite close to the line on a normal day. She says I have to watch myself or Baz will take out a restraining order. I said _I_ should take out a restraining order against him, because I know he’s trying to kill me – but she pointed out that, if I did that, I’d have to move out and I don’t want to do that.

Also, I’d never know what Baz was planning. He could hit me with a long-distance attack and I wouldn’t have the foggiest about it before it happened. Not that I know what Baz is planning most of the time.

Right now, he’s definitely asleep. That’s basically all I’ve got. I can see his chest rising and falling. Dark eyelashes flickering. And his mouth is full of teeth, like he’s having a nightmare.

That’s how I know he’s really asleep, the teeth. When he’s awake, he hides them. I’ve never seen Baz’s fangs during the day. (I’ve never seen his fangs during the night either; just the shape of them.) It’s part of why I’ve never been able to convince anyone he’s a vampire. He’s got amazing control. Normally, anyway.

I guess he _could_ be sick. Last year, I caught a cold from being out all night in the rain counting trees for the Mage and I slept for almost the entire day before Penny made me to go to the infirmary. The same thing could have happened to Baz. He does spend a lot of time in the catacombs, which aren’t exactly central heated.

Except I don’t know whether vampires can just do that. Just go unconscious. It would make sense. They’d want to be asleep during the day, before the sun came up.

Not that Baz is ever asleep during the day – he doesn’t even nap. And I’ve seen him pretend to be asleep before, which he wouldn’t need to do if he could just make himself sleep.

Unless he’s only just learned how to do this. Like a vampire coming-of-age thing. It’s his birthday next week. (It’s easy to remember because all the posh cards have already started arriving, although Baz doesn’t believe in opening them early.) Maybe eighteen is where you get all your dark vampire powers.

The way he grabbed me earlier – that could be part of it. He’s always been strong. And fast. But he’s never been _that_ fast. And his eyes looked weird. Like maybe he was trying to hypnotise me.

One thing, I do know: I’m not going to learn anything else sitting here. I’m just giving Baz material to give to his lawyer.

I leave Baz a glass of water and some paracetamol, just in case he really is sick. (Even if we’re enemies, I don’t want him to suffer.) (He’d only take it out on me.) And then I do what Penny’s always telling me to do. Well, the _two_ things she’s always telling me to do.

  1. Leave Baz alone.
  2. Go to the library.



**BAZ**

The next time I wake up it’s dark again. And not just because Snow has finally closed the curtains. Because it’s the evening.

Crowley, I’ve missed the whole day. Six classes. Three meals. Probably another football practice, although I’m not entirely sure what the day is anymore. I might have missed more than that.

My head feels better. I can _think_ more clearly, but I still feel like shit. And I’m so thirsty.

There’s water by my bed that I don’t remember putting there (Crowley, what else don’t I remember doing?) and Simon Snow is sitting at his desk, with just the reading light on. (Did I do anything to him? I can’t remember.) (I want to. I’m so _thirsty_.)

He jumps when I spell the main lights on.

“Worked out what the grand scheme is yet?” I ask. My voice rasps in my throat and – worse – my fangs have clearly popped during the night. I can hear myself lisping around them.

I flick the lights back off before Snow sees. I don’t know if that looks suspicious, but I don’t exactly care. I’m not walking around with my hand over my mouth and I can’t make the fangs go back in.

I drain the water – it doesn’t even take the edge off. (Because it isn’t what I need. I need salt. Iron. Thick, dark pools of the stuff that keeps Simon Snow alive.)

For some reason, Snow is blushing. I can see it – warm blood turning his skin from gold to pink beneath the freckles – even in the darkness. I could take it. He’s clutching a large dark book to his chest, like a shield between us. It wouldn’t be much of an obstacle, though. Even that ridiculous cross he wears wouldn’t stop me, it would just make things uncomfortable. Briefly. Before I ripped it off him.

“Um. You’re awake,” he says.

My fangs are aching. Everything is. And I can’t help but notice that I’m hard. Awkwardly hard. Obviously hard. (At least Snow won’t notice. It’s too dark. And he never notices.) Every part of me wants to be inside some part of him. Anywhere. Crowley, this is worse than normal.

“Well observed.” I try and keep my voice casual. “I have no idea how long for, so if you’re going to accuse me of something, make it quick.”

My pyjamas are silk, but they still feel rough. And even my loose trousers feel tight around my cock. I need to be out of them. I need a cold shower. (And for Snow to fuck off before I accidentally eat him. Or jump him.)

I stagger to my feet – I’m going to lock myself in the bathroom – but my body isn’t ready for the change in altitude and I almost fall. Unfortunately, it must be hard for Snow to turn off his heroic behaviour, because he moves to catch me.

I snarl and he steps back. (I don’t want him to touch me) (I mean, I _do_ want him to touch me. But he shouldn’t.) I just about keep my balance.

“You’re a vampire,” Snow says from a meter away.

“Keeping the accusations generic today, I see.”

“No, I mean – you really are,” Snow says. “You’re an actual vampire. And it’s your birthday next week. And – Look, can I turn the lights on?”

“No,” I say, but Snow has already pressed the open book into my hands and gone for the light switch, even though he’s a magician. The lights flare on and I close my eyes. I could spell the lights off again, but it looks childish. And I’d have to open my mouth to do it, and I’m currently making sure my lips are firmly closed over my fangs as Snow returns.

“I thought it might be a coming-of-age thing,” Snow says. “And, er. It is.”

He points again at the book. The flush hasn’t gone from his cheeks – if anything, it’s spread down his neck, although I have no idea what _Snow_ has to be embarrassed about. He’s not the one with an erection and a mouth full of teeth.

I want to shove the book away. (I _want_ to get out of here.) But that would be like admitting—

And if Snow _has_ found out something––

I try and focus on the book in front of me. It’s old. Full of thick, black Germanic print. The kind of book that spells vampire with a Y. The kind of book that is _about_ vampires. The kind of book I’ve been avoiding for the past twelve years of my life.

The chapter Snow has found is about vampire physiology. He’s stuck a post-it next to the bit he wants me to read. There’s an arrow drawn on the post-it. (I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t drawn _on_ the book.) I peel it off as I read.

The relevant section is short – that’s the good thing about it. The content is horrific. It confirms that vampires don’t need a regular intake of human blood to survive, but they do _need_ it. Once every eighteen years. It’s part of the mating cycle, apparently. Which means that the blood has to be taken mid-coitus. Because the universe really fucking hates me.

Vampires who don’t undergo this ritualistic dinner-date combination rapidly become feverish, violent, and then dead. I’m half way between stages one and two. Stage three – death – is still about a week away, although right now I wish it was closer. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with this.

I read the whole thing twice, to make sure my still-foggy brain hasn’t misunderstood it (somehow, although the whole section is less than half a page, the word ‘penetrate’ appears five times. Crowley). Then I look back at Snow, who is now almost crimson with embarrassment.

I close the book, tuck it under my arm and cover my mouth with my free hand.

“You’re fucking with me.”

Snow shakes his head. Which makes sense. It’s not exactly his style. Also, he isn’t good enough at magic to have edited the book so well I can’t see the join between the old text and the new. (He could have got Bunce to help, I suppose, but she’d probably tell him it would be a waste of magic. Which it would be.)

“Then the book is wrong,” I say, still keeping my mouth covered, although at this point, I’m not sure why I’m bothering. “On the same page it says vampires burst into flames in direct sunlight.”

“Probably being metaphorical,” Snow says. “I know you don’t like it.”

“I’m not a vampire,” I say weakly, but I know it’s all over.

“It’s not the only book I checked either,” Snow says apologetically.

His eyes dart over to his desk where I can see a stack of – Crowley – ten, maybe fifteen, similar looking volumes with similar looking post-its stuck into them. It’s probably the library’s entire reference section on vampires. And they’re all in my room. Snow’s read them _all._ He knows everything.

I need to get away.

I take another step towards the bathroom, and lose my balance again, but at least I’m close to the wall this time. I let myself slide downwards. Down into a shivering, pathetic heap on the floor.

I can’t believe I’m going to die because I was too hung up on Snow to find a boyfriend.

I mean, I always thought Snow would kill me. Not like this, though. I thought it would mean something at least, when he killed me. I thought I’d be a martyr. I thought Snow might feel something when he did it. Guilt, I don’t know. Instead of embarrassment. And disgust.

No, it’s worse than that. Because, when I hear Snow speak, it actually sounds like he _pities_ me.

“Look – can I get someone?”

“I don’t want a doctor.”

There’s no proof a doctor would be able to help. (A magical doctor. A Normal doctor _definitely_ wouldn’t be able to help.) But I’m sure any doctor worth his degrees would recognise me for what I am. If I’m going to die, I’d rather do it in private.

And I’d rather die than be exposed as a vampire. Because if people find out, what I am, then I _am_ dead. In all the ways that matter. Even if the Mage lets me live, he won’t let me practice magic. He won’t let me stay with my family. He’d cast me out. I’d never see Snow again. (Which right now feels like it would be a relief, but I can barely get through the summer holidays as it is.) I can’t let it happen.

“No, I mean,” Snow pauses, “You know. Someone to, er–?”

“Penetrate?” I suggest.

He makes a face. “Don’t be a dick. I mean, do you have a girlfriend and should I call her?”

I can’t believe this idiot. He’s followed me around every day for the last seven years. He’s seen the way I look at _him._ And he still thinks I might have a secret girlfriend stashed away somewhere that he’s never seen. How he worked out I’m a vampire is beyond me.

It occurs to me that, if I’m dying, I have nothing left to lose. I could ask Snow out now - it would be worth it just to see his face. Or I could just give in to the need coursing through me. Grab him. Pull him to me and bite him. Drain him until he’s too weak to fight me off and I can take him. Push myself into him again and again until I’m finally satisfied. I want to.

But I know that’s the monster talking, not me.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I tell him.

“OK. What about a professional?”

This is so stupid that I finally raise my head enough to glare at him over my knees. “Let’s imagine I _am_ a vampire––”

“You _are_ a vampire.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to go out and find a Normal sex worker, bring them to a magickal school they might not even be able to see, and ask them if I can drain all their blood?”

“The book doesn’t say it has to be _all_ the person’s blood.”

“You’re missing the point here, Snow.”

“So, you’re just going to _die_?”

“Hypothetically? Yes.”

Snow’s tugging hectically at his hair – that’s how I know he’s really worked up. I suppose that’s something. At least my death pissed him off.

“This is such _bullshit_. I can’t believe you’re just giving up like this.”

“Well, I am.”

I try and sink down into my arms, to protect myself, but Snow grabs the front of my pyjama shirt. I have to lean upwards, look upwards – at _him –_ to stop him ripping it.

His eyes are determined. His whole expression is. I recognise it – the same lowered eyebrows, the same jutting jawline as when we faced down the chimera together. When I shoved him into the wall yesterday.

Simon Snow is going to fight me about my own death.

“You don’t _have_ to die.” He shakes me emphatically – and I bare my teeth at him. All of them. Even _that_ doesn’t make him back off, though his eyes widen.

That’s how he’d look when I bit him. Beautifully surprised.

“All you need,” he persists, “is someone who won’t turn you in if they know you’re a vampire. You must have told people before this. Other people must know. I mean, _I_ know. _”_

As though it’s that simple. And for Snow, perhaps it is. He has a beautiful girlfriend who would probably be only too willing to fall into his bed. Even if he didn’t have her, he could find someone. People like to do things for Simon Snow.

He could ask me. Even if I didn’t want to do it, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. And I would want to do it.

I don’t have anyone like that.

“They don’t just have to know,” I remind him waspishly. “They’d have to be willing to let me fuck and then bite them. They’d have to put themselves in the hands of a vampire. Even you wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that.”

“I would if it would save your fucking _life_ ,” he snarls back.

And then I think he realises what he’s said.


	2. Chapter 2

**SIMON**

I’m not sure why I said that.

I mean, he’s my enemy. I should be happy he’s dying. But it just doesn’t seem right. For Baz to go like that. Quietly. Because of something he can’t control.

Obviously, it’d be different, if I killed him because he was trying to kill me. But I don’t think I can just stand by and watch him die. Not if I can save him.

I can’t risk the Anathema counting negligence as an act of aggression against my roommate. (And I can’t ask anyone if it would provoke the Anathema not to help him – Baz is freaked out enough as it is. I think it’s best to be on the safe side.)

Also, I don’t want him to go to _Agatha._ Which is a suggestion so obvious I’m surprised he didn’t think of it for himself, but I’m not going to point out.

What I have to do isn’t all that difficult _._ Which is good, because if it was, I’d probably mess it up. All I have to do is bleed and I do that all the time.

And as for the sex – well, I mean, it’s just sex, isn’t it?

Personally, I think it’s overrated. It’s just like having a wank. Only with someone else there too, looking bored and a bit disappointed.

Agatha and I tried a few times over Christmas. I didn’t expect it to go perfectly, not the first time. I don’t think she did either – but somehow it all still seemed to be my fault when she didn’t like it. And then the next time, I was so nervous that I couldn’t get a proper stiffy. It didn’t help that Agatha kept sighing. She didn’t even take her clothes off that time (she said she was cold).

I can imagine _Baz_ sighing, too, if I can’t get it up. But firstly – he’s a tosser, so I’d expect that from him, even if I’m doing him a favour. And secondly – from what I understand from the vampire book, I don’t actually have to do much other than lie there. Which means it’ll be Baz’s fault if he can’t do it properly.

He really looks like he wants to turn me down. Like even the prospect of death is preferable to shagging me. (Merlin. He hasn’t been talking to Agatha, has he?) (No, he can’t have.)

“You can’t be serious." He says it like he hopes I'm not.

He’s also trying to sneer, but it gets stuck on his fangs. Big, pointy, white fangs – classic movie vampire fangs. I thought maybe they’d be more subtle, since I’ve never seen them before, but they must just disappear when he’s not using them because there’s no way I wouldn’t have seen these. They’re _massive_.

I expect I’d look like a complete tit if I had fangs, but Baz’s always looked like a movie vampire. And whatever this sickness is, it’s made him even paler. The fangs push his top lip up even further, making him look even more pouty than usual. So, in a strange way, they actually suit him.

“Unless you’ve got a better option,” I say. “Obviously, I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

Baz tries another sneer – it’s better this time, more condescending – and reaches up for the bathroom handle. He levers himself up. (I don’t help.)

“I need a shower,” he tells me – and then he’s gone.

After a while I hear the water running.

I’m not sure what I should do at this point. I don’t know if he means he wants a shower before we do anything (it would be just like Baz to be weird about something like that), or if he just wants a shower. I could ask him, I suppose – he _can_ still hear me through the door – but it’s a bit awkward.

In the end, I just go down to dinner. I know what Baz’s doing and I know he’s not going anywhere, and I haven’t eaten since lunchtime.

By the time I get to the dining hall, I’ve realised I should probably tell Agatha at least some of what’s going on, so it’s a relief to see her sitting alone at one of tables. (I don’t want her to sub in for me. But I think it’s probably still cheating to shag someone else, even if you’re only doing it to save his life.)

She doesn’t look that happy when I ask to speak to her, but she actually cheers up once we’re in the Magic Words classroom and I tell her I think we should take a break. I don’t even get a chance to tell her _why_ (although I wouldn’t – too weird), or make sure she knows it’s only temporary. She’s already hugging me.

“Thank you, Simon. I knew it wasn’t working. I’m so glad you feel the same way.”

Of course, I _don’t_ feel that way at all – but I don’t know how to say that, since I’ve just broken up with her. So I just comfort myself with the thought that I can probably win her back after this thing with Baz is over. And then I comfort myself a bit more by going back to the dining hall and eating as much as three normal people. (Penny isn’t around to stop me, and Friday _is_ fish and chips night).I get a fourth plate for Baz, since I figure he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and head back to the tower.

Baz is _still_ in the bathroom when I get there, so I start eating his chips. I’ve almost finished them all when he finally comes out and I cram the final chips in my mouth. 

His hair is all wet and slicked back, and he’s wearing a dressing gown (because Baz is the sort of person who _owns_ a dressing gown.) He still looks like he’s having trouble standing on his own and he doesn’t let go of the door handle.

Maybe he just doesn’t know what to do.

Baz is really good looking, so he’s probably had loads of sex with people who don’t know or don’t care how much of a dick he is. Probably a glamorous older woman – or maybe _women –_ from the club. (Obviously, he wouldn’t tell them about the fangs.) But however experienced you are, you might be nervous about shagging your nemesis. Or your roommate. Or a bloke. Particularly if your life depends on it. He could be nervous – I know I am.

“I brought you some food,” I say. (I don’t mention the chips.)

“Fine,” Baz says. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about food – normal food, anyway. I watch him come to a decision. “If you’re serious about this, you should probably use the facilities as well. Brush your teeth. Use the toilet. And then shower. Carefully.”

“I’m not an animal,” I tell him.

Baz raises a particularly condescending eyebrow (twat), but I do take his advice. Not because I don’t want to upset him with my breath – but, well. It’s something to do. It delays what’s going to happen. (And I don’t want him to keep going on about it.)

I always shower in the evening anyway, so it’s not weird to be in here, standing naked under the water, like I am now. It’s just normal. Then I remember that I don’t want Baz taking the piss if I can’t get an erection and I don’t know that I can if he’s looking at me, which means I basically need to handle that side of things now, even though I know Baz is out there waiting.

I take my cock in my hand and move it a bit, but I’m not really sure how I’m going to do this next part.

The problem is – normally – when I jerk off, I think about Agatha. Because she’s my girlfriend and it’d be rude to think about anyone else. Except now she’s _not_ my girlfriend and I’m about to have sex with someone else, which means I don’t know who to think about.

I can’t exactly think about _Baz,_ because I don’t like him, even though he _is_ the obvious choice.

I mean, he _is_ fit. For a bloke. Great cheekbones. Pouty lips, and deep grey eyes. I can see why Agatha likes him. He’s beautiful.

And he’s got a great body. Usually, he hides it, but when I go to his matches, I can see how powerful his thighs are. And the tops of his arms. I know he’s strong because I’m like a rock when I don’t want to be moved, but Baz is still able to push me around.

I haven’t really thought about what it will be like to have sex with Baz, but I’d guess it might be a bit like that. With him strong and powerful and graceful above me. And in me. And his hair will probably start falling around his face, which is just – _Fuck._

I wrench my hand away from my aching cock before I get too into it.

So that’s one problem out the way – I don’t have to worry about getting an erection. But now I think I’ve got a new problem.

I think I might fancy Baz.

**BAZ**

Snow comes out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He hasn’t dried himself properly, so there are drops of water still clinging to his shoulders and chest, which are also covered in moles I’ve never seen before.

I’ve been sitting in the dark alone – shaking – and now Snow’s opened the door from a world of light and damp heat. He’s slick and golden. I can see the shape of his cock under the towel.

If this was a normal day, I’d probably be gnawing my own arm off with frustration right now. As it, I can barely breathe. I think I might be about to pass out. Or savage him.

“Why’re the lights off?” Snow asks.

“I thought it would make it easier.”

I mean for him. So he doesn’t have to see it’s me. So he doesn’t have to see it’s a boy. Or a vampire. He can imagine, if he wants, that he’s just screwing his pretty girlfriend. (Although he’ll have to be more imaginative that I’ve previously given him credit for to account for the cock in his arse, but I’m trying. I’m giving him a chance.) 

Vampires can see in the dark (that's something else I know) – so of course, I can still see him, even when he shuts the bathroom door. I wouldn’t have missed this, no matter how humiliating it is for me.

I watch him walk over to his own bed and sit down on the edge; I’m sitting on mine. He unclasps the cross necklace from around his neck (honestly, it’s like watching him get undressed – again) and puts it down on the window sill.

“So how are we going to do this, then?”

The throbbing in my gums is worse now, now the necklace is gone. I try and clear my throat.

“I’m assuming you haven’t had intercourse with another man before.”

“No,” Snow says. Defensively. (As though I need to be reminded that he’s incurably straight.)

“Neither have I. We need to take it very slowly and you need to be very relaxed.” 

“OK,” Snow says. “No problem.”

“So, I suggest,” my voice is shaking, but I can do this – I just need to keep it clinical, “that you give yourself an initial orgasm while I dilate your anal passageway. Then, if everything’s gone to plan, we proceed to the required form of penetration. Does that make sense?”

Snow is frowning. He’s also looking slightly to the left of where I’m standing, but I think that’s because he doesn’t know where I am, rather than because he can’t look at me.

“I think you’re saying you’re going to finger me while I bring myself off,” he says slowly. “Then, if I’m loose enough, you can fuck me and if not, we have to do something else. Right?”

I want to die.

No, that’s not it. I want to fuck him.

I _want_ to make love to him.

And I _can_. I can. Well, I can fuck him, anyway. Apparently. I just have to get through this without letting him know how much I want to.

“Shall we get started?” I suggest.

Fortunately, although I’m a virgin, I’m not completely unprepared for this. I’m not sure why, given that I’ve never wanted to have sex with anyone except my roommate (who I would have sworn before today I’d never have a chance with), but I’ve stocked up on all the necessary paraphernalia. Condoms. Lube. Latex Gloves. The whole lot is in the cupboard by my bed. Just in case. A side-effect of being a sad, anal-retentive queer, I suppose.

Snow flinches as one of the gloves snaps against my wrists. (He hasn’t made any move to get started without me, which I’m grateful for.)

“What was that?” he demands suspiciously.

“It’s a _glove_ , Snow. I’ve cleaned my nails, but I don’t want to infect you.”

He grins and I see his teeth – white and square – in the darkness. “And they say romance is dead.”

My heart feels like it’s stopped in my chest. He can’t know _that._ He can’t know how I feel about him.

I sneer, because even though I know he can’t see it, he’ll certainly hear it. “Were you expecting romance?”

Snow stops smiling instantly.

I want to kiss him, to make it better.

I don’t.

Instead I brace myself against the bedside cupboard, push myself upwards, and then – thank Crowley for small mercies – successfully manage to cross the distance between our two beds. (It’s not far. A metre or so. Hardly anything – I’ve thought about that often during the night. How close he is. And, obviously, how far away.) 

I hand Snow the pillow I’ve brought with me. “Put this under your arse, lie down and draw your knees up.”

I let myself collapse at the end of the bed near his feet as Snow follows my instructions. He lets the towel drop.

I had wondered whether he would. If he’d keep it over himself. Do the whole thing covered. It would make sense – but instead I can see everything. The thick vein running under his erect cock. His balls. A thatch of curly hair. The curve of his arse.

I can see Snow lick his palm and close it around his cock. I can see him move it.

For a moment, I’m paralysed.

I’m paralysed because I’m watching Simon Snow wanking. Because he’s _letting_ me watch him.

Seven years in the same room and he’s always been careful – we both have – never to let the enemy see _anything_. The most I’ve ever glimpsed before is an outline in his boxers when he kicks the covers off sometimes in the summer. Once, I think I heard him moaning in the shower when I came back from violin practice earlier than usual. That’s not a lot to use to construct a series of fantasies, but I did what I could.

Now this.

Crowley, I can even smell him. The shower I insisted on has ruined it somewhat, but as Snow works himself up, I get waves of it. A thick musky, heady scent. If I weren’t already mad, this would definitely drive me to it.

I want to touch him, everywhere. With my mouth. With my hands. With my _teeth._ I can’t do that yet, but I can touch him. Clinically. Unemotionally. As per our agreement. Yes.

My hands are trembling as I cover the gloves in lubricant and reach down. Snow’s hand on his cock stops as (and I can’t believe I’m doing this) I brush the tip of my finger around the ring of his anus. He twitches.

“Is that all right?” I ask him. Softly. It almost hurts to be quiet and slow – not to just push on and in – but I can’t frighten him. I can’t hurt him.

He swallows. (And I love it, more than I’ve ever loved him swallowing before.) “Yeah.”

“How about this?”

I slide my whole finger into him. Into the tight, warmth of his arse. He makes a soft mewling sound that almost breaks me and I freeze.

“ _Snow_?” I say sharply.

“It’s OK,” he says. “Keep going.”

So I do. I pull back and push back in. After a while Snow starts stroking himself again.

I can’t work out where to look. It’s dark, but he _might_ still be able to see me, which is why I’m not touching myself with my free hand. But I can’t make myself look bored. I can just about see his face at the other end of the bed. He’s covered his eyes with his other arm, but his mouth is open and the cords of his neck are standing out.

It’s doing nothing for my sense of self control.

I curl my finger and he mewls again. His hips lift slightly.

I think I’m getting high off these noises. Off what I’m doing. And I can’t help it – I’m barely able to stay upright as it is – I lean into him. Down towards him. My whole body drawn towards him with the gravity of the sun. My fangs are practically touching the skin of his thighs.

I can smell his blood from here. His sweat. The moisture leaking from the head of his cock. I’m so close I can practically taste it. All I’d have to do is reach out my tongue. Bite down.

“Baz,” Snow says and I jerk away.

He must have seen me. He’s going to tell me to back the hell off. But his voice is breathy and encouraging.

“You can put more in. If you like.”

Is this Snow’s bizarre way of asking me to fuck him?

No. I shake myself. It _isn’t._

He means fingers. I can put more fingers into him. Which is fine. Incredible actually (Crowley, I am _fingering_ the boy I’m in love with), but now it seems like a poor second to what I actually need to be doing.

I push a second finger in beside the first. It’s close and warm and Snow is trying not to roll his hips, but I can feel the tension in him through my fingertips. He likes it. He likes _me._ Doing this to him. (Even straight men have prostrates.) (If he _is_ straight. Perhaps he’s just never considered me in this light before. It _could_ happen.) It should be the fucking highlight of my awful life, but now I’m imagining what it will be like to put my cock where my fingers are. How much Snow will like _that._

And now it’s all I can imagine.

Pushing my cock into him. Hearing him moan as I bite down into his throat.

Snakes. Maybe I’ve been over-thinking this plan. Maybe I should just skip straight to the sex my body clearly wants me to have. Snow seems to be enjoying what we’re doing now. He’d like it, if I flipped him over now.

And if he didn’t, if he doesn’t want it – well, it’s not as if he’d be able to stop me.

I don’t even know how to stop myself.

**SIMON**

This is nothing like I thought it’d be. It’s definitely nothing like sex with Agatha. It’s much nicer. Which is weird. But maybe Agatha and I should have tried this rather than going straight into full on shagging. Just one of us touching ourselves while the other watched and maybe helped a bit. (I know Baz is watching me, even though it’s dark. He wouldn’t have turned the lights off unless he could see. Baz never lets his guard down.)

Weirdly, I don’t feel awkward, even though the whole situation is completely humiliating. Particularly now I know I don’t just hate Baz.

I can hear him breathing. It’s ragged. Like he’s having trouble.

I’m trying not to enjoy it, because firstly – Baz is in pain, that’s why he sounds like this, and secondly – I know he’d kill me if he realised I was actually getting off on this. But it’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. Baz’s breath hitching whenever I move.

I think that means I’m gay.

I’ve never thought of myself as gay before. But then I’ve never thought about Baz and sex before and now I’ve got his half his hand up my arse, which is making it quite difficult _not_ to think about it. It’s practically the only thing I _am_ thinking right now.

I thought about telling him. Not about his hand (he knows about that).

That I thought I might not hate this. (I really don’t hate it – Baz’s fingers inside me are a revelation. Cool and stiff and somehow able to dial straight into the part of my brain that tells all the other parts of me to feel good.)

That I fancy him.

I almost told him. Before we started. When I came out of the shower. I almost I told him I couldn’t do any of this because it would be taking advantage of him.

But I know he needs this. And I know that, for some reason, he doesn’t have anyone else. It has to be me.

That means I can’t make it weird for him. He’ll just freak out and probably decide he’d rather die. I can’t let him do that. He’s not going to die because of me.

And in the meantime, I just have to not to press down on Baz’s fingers too much. I can’t fuck myself on him. I just have to get myself off, and then Baz can do whatever he has to do, and then who knows? He might not be completely disgusted. (It could happen.) He might enjoy it. We could talk about doing this again – or something else. I think I’d quite like to see whether Baz would enjoy having _my_ fingers inside _him_.

Obviously I’d have to tell him I fancied him before any of that – but at least I don’t have to tell him _now_.

I just have to keep him alive – I have to do that. For any of the rest of it to happen. I have to keep him alive.

“Snow – I’m going to bite you.” His voice is slurred. “It’s–– I need to take the edge off. Before I do something I regret.”

Typical Baz, it’s not a question. It’s an order. But I guess it sounds reasonable. He is a vampire after all. And I’m so close I’m not even sure I’ll notice. I can’t really feel anything except my hand on my cock and Baz’s fingers in my arse.

I do notice when he _doesn’t_ bite me, though.

“Forget what you were doing?” I ask him. Which is a really stupid thing to say, but I don’t know what wouldn’t sound stupid at this point. And he was barely keeping it together earlier. He might have forgotten.

“You have to consent,” Baz says. Thickly, through his teeth. “Anathema.”

I swallow. “Do it.”

“I’m not a monster,” Baz says and I can tell it’s important to him that I know this, even though it’s just me.

“I know,” I say. “You’re just a dick.”

He laughs – the weird breathy laugh from yesterday – and I feel him shift on the bed. Then his breath on my thigh (I didn’t ask him _where_ he was going to bite me – I guess it’s there). And then Baz’s teeth are in my skin, pressing down and into me.

I can feel it, but my body is definitely still concentrating Baz’s fingers, rather than his teeth. His fingers are still pumping into me. Pushing me closer and closer to the edge. And my brain has somehow connected the sound of Baz lapping blood from my thigh to the way my hand is moving on my cock and is arguing that maybe – because it’s dark – I’m confused. Maybe Baz is actually sucking me off. Maybe Baz’s lips are on my cock and if I thrust upwards, I’ll get to come in Baz’s sneering, pretty mouth.

The light comes on, as if by magic. (It is magic – _my_ magic. I can’t control it.) And although I know I shouldn’t, that it’s taking advantage, I look down.

Baz’s face is pressed into my leg and I can see his left hand disappearing inside me. The dressing gown is falling open and it’s almost completely off one shoulder.

It’s worse than I thought it would be. Much worse. I screw my eyes shut.

Fucking hell.

**BAZ**

I can taste Snow’s blood change as he comes. It’s sweeter. Flooded with happy chemicals. Then the tide goes out again and I can just taste iron and _Simon Snow_. I let it rest heavy in my mouth and then swallow, reaching my tongue out to caress the warm skin of his thigh.

For a moment, I think his hand comes to rest on my hair. Gently. But when I draw away – pulling my fangs and my fingers out of him – he’s got both of his palms pressed to his face.

I suppose this is a traumatic experience, even for a hero. Especially now the lights are on. (Definitely not my fault, although it does make it easier to look at him.) Well, it’s not as if it’s a picnic for me, either.

I strip the gloves and grope for my wand. I need to heal him fast before the smell of blood gets too much for me again and I have to do something about it. I cast **_“Get well soon”_** _,_ and **_“Clean as a whistle”_** to get rid of the semen, and then turn the lights back off.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go again.”

I try and say it lightly, but I can tell even Snow has heard the obvious underlying desperation. He raises his head to try and look me, even though he can't.

“It didn’t take the edge off, then?”

I shake my head.

It’s worse. There’s a film of Snow’s blood still coating my teeth. I can still _taste_ him. And he’s just stretched out before me, like a buffet. He’s been eating well for the past five months and everything about him is round and firm. Lush.

Great Snakes. It was difficult not to bite him _before_. Surely even normal people struggle on a daily basis.

And even that – even _that_ – is nothing to how much I want to fuck him. It hurts not to touch him. It hurts to watch and just wait until he’s ready. 

But I have to wait. Snow has to let me.

For something to do, I try and focus on the pile of lubricant and condoms I’ve brought with me. I’ll need one. To fuck him. But they’re all in sealed wrappers and my coordination isn’t what it usually is. My hands are still trembling. I rip two of them before Snow offers to do it for me.

“Back _off_ ,” I snarl, but he’s already feeling around for the unopened packets. Somehow, he gets it open on the first try and I have to take it from him or risk him trying to push it on me in the dark.

Even though I know he can’t see me, I turn away from Snow and roll the thing on under the dressing gown. It hurts just touching myself like this. I’ve been hard for hours. I tried wanking my erection away in the shower earlier. I thought it had worked, for a moment. But as soon as I saw Snow again it was back, and insistently at that. Even though Snow's mouth was full of chips at the time. (Crowley, I’m sick _._ )

“I’m ready, by the way,” he says, quietly in the darkness.

I let myself breathe a sigh of relief even though I know he can hear it. Even though it’s too soon. I know it’s too soon. He can’t possibly have recovered – he’ll be sensitive, he probably isn’t hard – but it’s not down to me to say if Snow’s ready. If he says he is, I’m not calling him a liar.

I turn back to look at him. He’s lying on his back. He isn’t hard, but he doesn’t need to be. He _said_ he was ready.

“Turn onto your side,” I tell him.

Snow frowns. “Can’t I just spread my legs?”

It’s the wrong question. The kind of question only a complete idiot would ask. If we were standing upright, I’d slam him into the wall. That’s what I’d do on any _normal_ day. But Snow is already on the mattress and so I press him into it. I lean over him, although I do at least keep my hips away from him.

“This isn’t _straight_ sex,” I tell him. Inches from his nose. “You can’t just lie there and think of England.”

Snow’s eyes are wide and his mouth is open.

I could kiss him now. The fangs would get in the way, cut his lip, perhaps – but right now I think I’d like that. Snow’s mouth filled with his blood. I consider it. And I consider Snow’s neck, where his Adam’s apple is bobbing. That’s where I’ve always wanted to bite him.

“ _Why_ would I think of England?” Snow says before I can do it. (He’s terrible with idioms.)

“Forget it.” I pull back, so I’m lying against the wall and Snow rolls towards me. “ _Other_ way, Snow."

“Sorry I’m not an expert on gay sex, like you are apparently,” he grumbles as he turns over onto his other side.

“I’m not an expert. I’ve just–” read a lot of online articles “––thought about where the anus _is_ and how to get to it. _”_ Crowley. _That_ sounded bad. I'll have to ignore it. “Move your top leg forward.”

I fumble with the tie on my dressing gown. I don’t need to take it off, so I don’t (I don’t want him to think I want to be naked with him), but it does need to be open. I need to spread more lube on myself.

“All right, now what?” Snow asks.

He twists round to look at me, even though it’s dark. I pull my hand away. His forehead wrinkles in concern when I don’t answer immediately.

“Baz? Are you OK?”

“I’m _fine_. _”_

I’m not fine. I’m feeling more than a little hysterical, but I’m not telling Snow that. (We don’t tell each other the truth.) This is it. It’s actually happening.

I move my hips forward just as Snow moves his back _._ The tip of my cock slides between the cheeks of his buttocks. Both of us gasp.

“Fuck,” Snow hisses. “That was your actual––”

“I _know.”_

I’m finding it quite hard to breathe.

Crowley. This is a disaster. Snow is obviously skittish, having realised at last what exactly is going to happen to him. But I’ve given him enough chances to back out. He let me _bite_ him and now I have to have him. I have to.

“Snow––” I begin and I’m not sure what I’m going to say. If I’m going to threaten him. Remind him what it means to make a promise to someone. Beg. (Pitches don’t beg, but then again I’m only half a Pitch. It might be worth a try. I don’t need _dignity_ to live. Just him.)

“ _Snow_ ––” I say, and then I stop because Snow has reached back with his upper arm. His hand closes around my cock. He squeezes. I shut my eyes and dig my fingernails into his hip as he starts to stroke me. How can this be happening?

“Simon,” I whisper into his shoulder. “ _Simon_.”

**SIMON**

This isn’t a good angle.

My arm’s twisted behind me – and it’s my _left_ arm, which is pretty useless – and I can’t see what I’m doing. But I can hear Baz’s breathing changing and he’s moaning my name. _My_ name. He’s not even calling Snow. My actual name. Simon.

Which makes me think I’m probably doing something right.

My erection is back as well (it didn’t take long – Baz’s voice is too fucking sexy), although I can’t really do anything about it because I’m concentrating.

Baz’s cock is slick (with lube I assume. It probably doesn’t just do that) and it’s soft and hard at the same time. I can’t tell if it’s bigger than mine from this angle, but it feels big. It fills my hand.

I think I like it, though. It’s not hot, but it’s warm. I feel like I’m holding him. All of him. Like I’ve got him and I can do what I want with him.

“ _Simon_ ,” Baz hisses again.

“This OK? You’re liking it?”

“Fuck you, Snow,” Baz says breathlessly against my neck.

“Yeah,” I say. “I know that’s what you need to do.”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Baz groans, but he doesn’t deny it.

I can’t really believe his cock is going to go inside me, though. It’s nothing like his fingers, which are long and elegant and not frightening at all. This is the real deal. Another bloke’s cock.

Merlin, I’m touching another bloke’s cock. I’m touching _Baz._ He’s letting me touch him. And he _likes_ it. OK, so he’s not exactly himself right now, but it’s a start. At least, I think it is.

I thought he was about to have a panic attack. I think he still might be – his breathing is still faster than normal – but he knows I’ve got him and he can’t get away. I’m going to make sure he does this. We’re going to save his life together and then we are _definitely_ going to talk about our relationship.

I push my hips back and sort of pull Baz towards me with my hand. His cock slides through my cheeks and then connects and I push back as Baz pushes forward. I feel his leg (it’s cold, like the rest of him) sliding over mine. And the head of his cock pops into me.

Fucking hell. I was right – it’s nothing like his fingers. It’s much bigger. Much.

It’s the shock of it, more than anything. And I’m surprised when I hear my own voice because I don’t remember deciding to say anything. I don’t even remember thinking it.

“ _Stop_.”

I’m shaking, but somehow Baz has stopped. _He’s_ shaking too – I can feel it, his hand on my hip and chest against my back.

I can still feel him inside me.

Baz’s voice comes from close to my ear. He sounds pained but he’s not moving, even though he must want to. “ _Snow,_ please–– Simon.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Just – give me a moment.”

I should probably be surprised that Baz isn’t just taking what he wants from this. He doesn’t have to listen to me – and I know he’s having a hard time controlling himself right now. And it’s not as if he’s ever held himself back from hurting me before.

It should _definitely_ be a surprise. But it’s not. I guess it’s because I know Baz can’t really control himself right now, which means he can’t pretend very well either. Which means maybe this is the real Baz – the one who calls me Simon, and tried not to hurt me, and wouldn’t bite me without my permission.

Or maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better about the fact I was enjoying having sex with him. Maybe he is still a complete dick who wants to kill me. I guess I’ll figure that out later.

What I do know is right now, I want this to be all right for him. And I want it to be all right for me. I want to tell him to get on with it, to shag me until he feels better and I feel amazing, and we both come so hard we pass out or something, I don’t know. But right now, it really isn’t all right.

I move my arm back round to my front and try and use both my hands to bring my cock back to life. I need to be back at the point where I was so turned on that I couldn’t feel Baz _biting_ me with his enormous fangs. This is nothing to that. This is––

It should feel _good._

“Let me,” Baz whispers.

His hand slides off my hip. And down. It closes around my hand on my cock. Then, as Baz repeats his demand (“ _Just let me fucking do it, Snow”),_ I move my hand away completely and let him take over. 

_This_ feels good. Baz Pitch – giving me a handjob. Baz’s slick hand gripping me, sliding up and down my cock, which is definitely waking up again now. Thickening in Baz’s hand.

I love Baz’s hands. I’ve decided that. I love everything about them. How strong they are. The roughness on the pads of his fingers. I think I want to pull Baz’s hand into my mouth and suck on each of his fingers until he squirms – but I also don’t want him to stop what he’s doing.

I lean back into him. I can feel the cool silk of his dressing gown and the cool silk of his skin against my back.

“That’s good,” I tell him. Because it is.

I hear him swallow and I can almost feel how nervous he is. “Good enough to…?

“Yeah,” I say. “You can move again if you want. I mean, I want you to.”

“Shut up,” Baz says, but he’s still stroking my cock and when he pushes in, it’s slow. Achingly slow. And deep. And rich. And warm. Painful, still, but somehow I actually like it now as well.

“Is that all right?” Baz asks as he pulls out, just as slow, and presses back in again.

I try and nod. He hasn’t quite got the hang of moving his hand at the same time as his hips, even at this speed, but I can tell he’s working on it. And to be honest, it really doesn’t matter. I’m groaning into the pillow and he’s panting in my ear. And I feel like my veins are full of light or something. Something dizzyingly warm. I’m not sure that makes sense. Every time his cock presses in all the way, another wave of even betterness washes over me so it’s getting fairly hard to think.

“ _Snow_?” Baz demands.

“You told me to shut up,” I tell him breathlessly.

“I know,” Baz says. “But are you actually all right?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “Fucking. Jesus. Yes.”

**BAZ**

Snow is loud in bed. That’s something I know now. Because I’m fucking him (Crowley, I’m actually fucking Simon Snow), that’s how I know. And he’s making the most incredible, obscene noises every time I drive my cock back into him.

Mostly profanity and variations on the word ‘ _yes’_. More and more difficult to understand as I shift my weight on him. (Not liable to win him any prizes for elocution.) (As though I care.) Let myself speed up. Let myself fuck him like I want to. Harder. More.

“Fuck, _Baz_ ,” Snow whimpers as I slam my hips into his arse again. And that’s definitely my favourite of all Snow’s noises, I’ve decided. When he says my name like a swearword. Which he does – repeatedly.

Snow is always hot – I can feel the heat radiating off him, even on a normal day. Right now, it’s like being pressed up against the sun. _Inside_ the sun. (I’m inside Snow.) The blood is circulating fast under his skin. I can smell it. I can almost taste it on my tongue.

I’m going to bite him soon. At the point of orgasm. I’m almost there. I was already most of the way there when we started this. And now, thanks to the noises, and the sweat, and the blood I can almost taste, and the ridiculous, perfect tightness of Snow’s arse, now I’m right at the tip of it. About to topple over.

I’ve still got his cock in my hand. I’m still jerking him off, although less elegantly than I was. Since Snow seemed to think it was perfectly fine to touch me, I let myself return the favour. I’ve even slid my right arm under his waist so I can pull him into me. Keep him close.

I’m slick with sweat – mine and Snow’s – and lubricant from my hand. Essentially, the whole thing is a complete fucking mess. And I want to do it again and again with Snow until both of us die of – ideally – old age.

His head drops back obligingly as I start to nuzzle at his neck. Run my nose over his throat and breathe him in.

He smells like food, as always. School soap. Sweat. A faint tang of semen from where he came earlier and I didn’t get it all with my spell. The whole thing is intoxicating. (I’m going to come harder than I have in my life.) My fangs are aching with the need to be inside him.

I give his cock another hard stroke as I whisper against his pulse. “I’m going to do it. Now, Snow.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Snow says, “yes” – and he’d better mean that as consent and not just as a random expression of contentment, because I need this. I need him.

I need him so much it was almost the death of me.

“Yes. _Fuck_ ,” Snow pants as I sink my fangs into his throat. “Baz.”

His blood fills my mouth – just as rich and sweet as before, but somehow better.

I rock my hips again, rocking myself deeper into him. I hear him whimpering as I clutch at his chest. I don’t think he’s coming, but I am. At last. At last. I’m in him and around him and he’s in me and I’m shuddering through an orgasm with my teeth in his throat. And for the moment everything is Simon and nothing hurts.

**SIMON**

Baz shudders and stills. He pulls his teeth out of me and I hear him gasp for breath. I think he’s come, which means it’s all over. That was the deal.

I think about finishing myself off, but it seems a bit rude as he’s still inside me. So I just lie there, twitching, while Baz collects himself.

Eventually he pulls back (out) and I groan a bit because his cock is still really big and I’m still really sensitive. I let him yank his arm back too and then he flops over onto his side towards the wall.

“Better now?” I ask him.

“Mm,” Baz says dreamily.

The sound goes straight to my cock.

It doesn’t help that – even though I can’t see him – I can really easily imagine him lying next to me. Absolutely debauched. Too well-fucked to talk. Blood all over his face (which is a turn on, somehow, if it’s my blood) and his hair all mussed. I’m pretty sure we’ve ruined the dressing gown.

I want to roll over onto him and just sort of hump his leg or something until I get off. But I don’t think Baz would like that and I need to do _something_ about myself or I’ll go mad, so instead I get up off the bed and take a few steps in the direction of the en suite. Baz calls me back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

His voice is sharp, nothing like the lazy satisfied Baz of a few moments ago. Actually, he sounds annoyed.

“Bathroom,” I explain. “To, er. You know.”

I don’t want to point out my still obviously very hard cock, in case it seems pushy, but I expect Baz can see it. It’s big enough.

“Oh, I think you deserve better than a wank in the shower,” Baz says and now his voice is different again. Amused. And smug. (In other words, very _Baz_.) I think that means he might be taking the piss, but when his hand reaches out and closes around my wrist, I _do_ let him drag me back to the bed. Because if Baz _isn’t_ taking the piss, I know I’d prefer him jerking me off than having to do it myself.

The bed creaks a bit as Baz shifts around so he can get a better angle. He also heals my neck, which I guess was still bleeding, not that I care right now.

“You’ll be pleased to know my fangs are gone,” Baz’s voice says at last (it seems to be coming from further away than before. Lower down my body). I want to shout at him to get going and just touch me before I explode, but I’m trying to be nice so he doesn’t change his mind.

“Yeah, Baz, that’s great, but––”

And then I stop saying whatever I was going to say, because Baz’s hand is around my cock at last and also something warmer and wetter than a hand, around the head. Teeth, but no fangs.

Merlin – Baz Pitch is sucking me off. My cock is in Baz’s mouth. His lips are on my cock. It’s not just a fantasy, like earlier. It’s happening. And Baz is wanking me off with his hand at the same time.

I don’t think he knows what he’s doing, like he can't decide what to do with his tongue, but it feels nice anyway. Really nice. While I’m still trying to deal with this – with how weird my life is right now – one of the fingers on his other hand pushes its way back into my arse. The finger crooks and I cry out because it’s so good.

I reach down to tangle my fingers in Baz’s hair, which is still damp. He’s bobbing his head. I feel like crying, but in a good way, like how eventually the pain of Baz screwing me felt good.

I want to come really badly. The warmth and heat is rushing through me. I’m going to come, but I can’t imagine Baz letting me come in his mouth. Then again, I can’t really imagine Baz sucking me off or fingering me. Or at least – I couldn’t. Now I can imagine it really well.

“Baz, stop. I’m going to come,” I tell him desperately. “I’m sorry. I’m going to–”

And then I do.

I come in Baz’s mouth and he swallows. It’s amazing, but I can help think I’m going to pay for it later.

Baz doesn’t immediately start balling me out once I’m done, though. So maybe he understands it was an accident.

“Now _I’m_ going to have the first shower,” he tells me. Like he’s delighted to get one over on me. Which is stupid, but I guess he can have it. The win.

Personally, I can’t imagine caring about personal hygiene right now. I feel exhausted. Wrung out. And it’s not as if the bed’s too damp, since Baz wore a condom and he swallowed most of my spunk. (Which still feels like a weird thing to say, but is literally, exactly what happened.)

“I don’t really want a shower. I think I’m just going to go to sleep,” I say.

“And you say you’re not an animal,” Baz says dryly.

I catch a glimpse of him as he turns the light on in the en suite – all pale limbs and dark hair (fuck, he’s fit. I can’t believe I didn’t notice that until today) – before he closes the door.

My last thoughts before I fall asleep are all about Baz.

How much I’m hoping we can do this again. How much I want to kiss him (because I didn’t get to do that, and I know I want to. Badly). How I’m hoping we can talk and maybe come to some arrangement where he doesn’t kill me and I don’t kill him, and instead we just go to the movies and hold hands. 

And how I can’t imagine in a million years that Baz is going to let that happen.

**BAZ**

The shower is remarkably sobering.

I feel better. And worse.

The shaking – that’s gone. And the bloodlust. And the erection. I feel normal again. Normal enough to think about what I’ve just done.

I just sucked Snow off.

I can’t believe I did that. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time; _now_ , it seems both pushy and really gay.

Snow enjoyed the physical sensation of having sex with me. Probably. That doesn’t mean he wanted his queer vampire roommate to suck his cock. We were doing everything else because we had to. Because Snow’s good nature meant he couldn’t stand to watch even his worst enemy die. At no point anywhere in the ancient text did it say vampires need to swallow other men’s semen to survive. No, I made that part up on my own.

He tried to get me to stop. At the end. And I kept going because – well, because I wanted to.

Might as well have confessed my undying love for him as well while I was doing it. Because of course, now he knows. He must know.

He knows I wanted all of it.

I press my forehead into the cold, hard tile of the shower wall and let the water run over my head and down my back.

Crowley, I’m fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

**SIMON**

I wake up – a bit sticky (Baz was right about taking a shower) – and I notice immediately that I’m alone. The room is empty.

It’s the weekend, so we don’t have any classes to get to, and we always serve ourselves breakfast at the weekend right up until lunch, if we want to. It’s not as if there’s anything to rush downstairs for. And Baz is a classic late sleeper – it’s why he showers in the evenings, so he can spend as much of the morning under the covers as possible. 

It’s not a good sign that he’s already awake. I’m guessing he wanted to avoid a scene.

I have a quick shower (I don’t wank) (I really don’t know who to think about now) and pull on my uniform.

When I go down to breakfast, I’m actually nervous. I’m not sure what to say if Baz is there. But he isn’t. Penelope is, though, which is a relief. It’s nice to have something normal. 

I grab a plate, load it up with sausage, bacon, eggs and whatever else looks good, and go and sit with her. I kind of want to tell her about Baz, but I don’t know whether I can. One thing I do know is that I can’t tell her he really is a vampire, even though I’ve told her my suspicions a hundred times before. Now I _know_ he's a vampire, though, I also know how scared he is that other people will find out. And I know (at least, I think I do) that he wouldn’t bite anyone – not without asking their permission anyway.

He’s not a threat. Which means telling other people just seems rude. Like going around making a big deal about Rhys being in a wheelchair. It’s not really my business.

Is it my business that I fancy Baz? That we slept together. That I liked it. That I think _he_ liked it. (Maybe that’s Baz’s business again.)

Can I _ask_ him whether he liked it? Whether he’d like to do it again? I know I have to tell him I like him – or at least I think I do. If Baz doesn’t want to talk to me, maybe the right thing to do is _not_ tell him. Merlin, I'm so confused.

I never had this problem with Agatha. She knew I liked her (I mean, everyone likes Agatha). Eventually she just suggested I ask her out. Baz isn’t going to do that. He hates me – and he thinks I hate him. He’s more likely to punch me in the face.

I’m eating mechanically, without tasting any of it. Penny has to wave a hand in front of my eyes to get my attention.

“Hello? Earth to Simon. I’m talking about your favourite subject here and you’re not even listening.”

“Butter?” I guess.

She sighs. Sometimes I think Penny wonders why she’s my friend.

“ _Baz_ ,” she says, “was here a few minutes ago. When I walked over towards the buffet to get some more tea, I heard him telling Dev he’d had the flu. He said he hadn’t been able to get out of bed at all yesterday.”

She waits for me to react. When I don’t (I’m not sure how to react, if I’m honest) she sighs again.

“So, you can check with the nurse, can’t you? I thought you’d be pleased to have a clue.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks, Penny. That’s really good.”

I want to tell her I already know this. (And that ‘getting out of bed’ wasn’t the problem – more getting _into_ bed.) Penny and I don’t keep secrets from each other and this is a big one. Probably the biggest secret I’ve ever had. Baz is a vampire. I like Baz. I’m _gay._ (Probably.)

Penny’s frowning at me. I can tell she knows something’s up. “Did Baz give you his flu, Simon? You’re acting really weird.”

I figure if I don’t tell her she’ll just find out anyway. That means it’s OK to tell her, but I lower my voice before I do because I don’t want to tell everyone at breakfast.

“Sorry, it’s just – we kind of had sex last night.”

Penny gapes at me. She looks almost impressed. “How did you get into the Cloisters?”

“What?” I say. Then I work out what she means. “No, not with Agatha. _Baz_.”

“You had sex with _Baz?”_

Penny’s eyebrows rise over the tops of her witchy glasses and I can see she’s waiting for me to make the joke funny – instead of just weird. But it’s not a joke. And after a while she realises that.

“OK,” she says eventually. “Well, I suppose that does explain a lot actually.”

I pause mid-bite. This is news to me. “Does it?”

“Well, you’re both completely obsessed with each other,” Penny says. “I thought you needed to get a hobby – and I _know_ you needed to break up with Agatha. But I had no idea it was unresolved sexual tension with Baz that was making you act like an idiot. It all fits, though. Was it _good_? The sex.”

“It was a sort of saving-his-life sort of thing,” I say, rather than answer that. “You know.”

Penny’s read the same books I have (or rather, Penny’s read _lots_ of books, and some of them are also the ones I’ve read) so I know she _does_ know what I mean. I can see her putting it all together with what I’ve said and Baz saying he was sick yesterday. Penny loves making sense of the world so she looks delighted.

“Oh _right_ ,” she says. “So, he really is a––”

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Snakes. I can’t believe you were right.”

“Thanks, Penny,” I say sourly.

I go back to my breakfast, but there’s something still bothering me. Something about what she said.

I swallow – because I’ve got food in my mouth, and because this is important. 

“Penny. Do you really think Baz is obsessed with me?”

**BAZ**

I’m in the library. I only came to return the vampire books, but it’s cool here and quiet and I don’t want to be disturbed right now. Most of the rest of the school are out enjoying the start of the weekend. There are just a few students already working on homework that isn’t due until Monday. High-achievers or just extremely anxious. Since I’m usually one of them, I know they won’t disturb me. It wouldn’t be productive.

After what just happened, I’ve decided I probably _should_ find out more about my condition, so I’m reading the book Snow pushed on me last night. I don’t like the idea of anyone knowing more about me than I do, Snow definitely not excluded.

Horrifyingly, the librarian on duty told me he’d checked out exactly the same books on twenty-four separate occasions over the past five years. That makes him one of the library's most prolific users, apparently. She thought it was hilarious when I turned up with them all. We both had a good laugh (well, she did; I pretended) about how thick you’d have to be to think someone was a vampire just because they have pale skin and dark hair. I told her I’d been leading Snow on about it for years – and that I was here, reading this book about vampires, in order to have more material to freak him out with.

The book is dense and it would be hard work, even if it wasn’t about me. I’m trying to concentrate on a passage about how vampirism affects your sleep cycle – your dreams (apparently, vampires are particularly susceptible to nightmares) but my mind keeps slipping back to Snow, who must have read all of this before me.

I think I can see his handwriting in the book. (He hasn’t actually written _on_ it – I don’t think Bunce would let him get away with that. But I think he stuck a post-it on this page and pressed too hard with a biro. Now there’s an indentation of his thick, rough handwriting pressed into the paper. This page says: _Baz has nightmares._ And then, in Bunce’s handwriting, just below it: _Everyone has nightmares, Simon._ )

I’m imagining him reading this and thinking about me.

He was asleep when I came out of the bathroom. And he was asleep this morning when I woke up (which isn’t surprising – I set my alarm for six, even though it was the weekend, just so I would be awake first). But I’m going to have to talk to him at some point.

It won't go well.

Snow’s too noble – or possibly just too thick – to try and blackmail me with what he knows. But he doesn’t have any qualms about saying what he knows very loudly to almost everyone he meets. Even if he doesn’t tell the world I’m a _vampire_ (and he will – he’s Snow. Frankly at this point I think it would be more suspicious if he stopped), he has this. He knows I’m gay.

Those members of the Old Families who’ve heard the vampire rumour think it's ridiculous – because they think vampires can’t go out in the sunlight, and don’t eat food, and are constantly murdering people, and I don’t do any of these things. But I haven’t ever had a girlfriend, or wanted one, and I have long hair for a man, and I can dress and wash myself. The idea of me being gay probably isn’t quite as unbelievable.

If I were Snow, I might insist on moving rooms. I know he’s tried before, but there was no proof I was a vampire. (Before now). The school has gender barriers for a reason – to protect its students from natural urges. And unnatural ones. The staff might be sympathetic. He’s been sleeping in a room with someone who clearly letches on him in the night. I’ve never touched him (before now), but I’ve wanted to, and he knows that. He must do. Any normal person would want to get away. 

The absolute best-case scenario is that Snow tries to let me down gently – point out that he isn’t gay and he’s not interested – and it’s still completely humiliating. It doesn’t matter that I’m used to making Snow doubt the evidence of his own senses ( _“Honestly Snow – do you really think I’d be interested in someone like you, if my life wasn’t at stake?”_ ) – we’ll both know that I’m lying.

But I’m not worried about how Snow will react, not really. Whatever he comes up with, I can deal with it.

I’m worried about myself.

Now I know what his skin tastes like. Now I’ve seen the moles on his thighs. Now I’ve heard the sounds he makes when he comes. I was already completely in love with him. And now I know what it would be like to be with him – some of it anyway – and I’m just supposed to forget it. To carry on as I was. To sneer and scowl and lash out.

I know it will get better – that it won’t always hurt this much. I know that just because it’s worse now than ever doesn’t mean it won’t get better. It will. But right now, I can’t stop thinking about him. His horrific handwriting. How he tastes and looks and sounds. I swear I can even _smell_ him right now – fried meat and crisp, buttery pastry – even over the strong library-smell of old paper. It’s like the smell of Simon Snow is all over me, inside me, and I can’t wash it off.

I inhale again. Bacon and cinnamon. School soap. Shoe polish. This morning’s breakfast. A grassy, floral scent that I recognise as the Wavering Wood.

I’m not imagining it. It _is_ Snow. The real one; not just the one who lives in my sordid imagination.

Crowley, I should have realised I wasn’t going insane (not entirely anyway). It’s just that Snow can never resist a fight and has tracked me down to have it.

“Hey, Baz.”

I don’t look at him as he sits down at the other side of the table. (I also manage not to lick my lips. Or push my hair out of my face, even though I know I left in such a hurry this morning that I didn’t slick it back.) (It really doesn’t matter what I look like - Snow isn’t interested.) I’m just minding my own business. Reading a book about vampires in the library on the weekend. I don’t need to have this confrontation – Snow chose it, I didn’t.

But I can feel him staring at me and I don’t think I can handle it if he just sits here and stares at me for the next hour, like he did while I was sick. He hasn’t put his cross back on yet and there’s no static in my fangs. Nothing to dissuade me. I try and shut my eyes but I can feel my eyelashes flickering because I _want_ to look at him.

“Baz?”

“What is it?”

I hate myself for being so weak, but at least I still haven’t looked at him.

“Um,” Snow says. “I, er, brought these for you.”

And he slides a bunch of wildflowers across the table towards me.

**SIMON**

I think the flowers were a mistake. I don’t want Baz to think that I think he’s a girl, but I wasn’t sure what to bring for a boy and Penny wasn’t any help, even though she’s been dating one for years.

_“You know him best, Simon. That’s what you’ve always said.”_

In the end I went for flowers because it’s what I used to get Agatha – and I knew I could get them from the Wavering Wood. But it’s just occurred to me that Agatha and I didn’t really have a good relationship and maybe that’s why she was so pleased when I broke up with her.

Baz seems pretty confused, but at least he’s looking at me. Well – he’s glaring at me. But I still think it’s an improvement. He hasn’t slicked his hair down today and it’s falling around his face, which I now realise is how I like it. He’s not as pale as he was yesterday either – his cheeks are even a bit pink – and his eyes are as dark as the night sky. Even glaring at me, he’s beautiful. 

“ _Garlic_ repels vampires, Snow. Not violets.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a myth,” I say (although what I’m actually thinking is: _Merlin,_ _the flowers really were a mistake_.) “Also, I’m not trying to repel you. I’m trying to ask you out.”

Baz looks even more confused than before. “What?”

“I want to go out with you,” I repeat in case he didn’t hear me. “Because I like you. A lot. I’d like to spend time with you. Like a boyfriend.”

I think I should probably be embarrassed, because Baz is staring at me like I’m a lunatic, but I trust Penelope. If she says that Baz is obsessed with me then he probably is. That means that’s it’s worth asking for what I want. I don’t have to just pretend I don’t want it. Him. 

I think I’ve wanted him for a long time. (Penny says I definitely have.)

“We’re enemies,” Baz says. He looks lost, now. Almost scared. A bit like last night. I want to gather him into my arms and tell him it’ll be all right.

“I know,” I say. “What I’m saying is that I think we should stop doing that, and start being boyfriends. If you want to be."

“You have a _girlfriend_ ,” Baz says accusingly – like he’s thought of a list of reasons not to date me and he’s going to read them all out to me, one by one, until I admit I’ve made a mistake. I don’t think I have though. 

Actually, it’s a bit of a relief that me having a girlfriend (which I don’t anymore) is one of the best reasons he can think of. I thought there’d be lots more.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t have slept with you if I had a girlfriend. We broke up yesterday. Before that.”

Baz makes a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat. It reminds me of the noise he made when I touched his cock yesterday for the first time. I want to touch him again. Not _there_ (not immediately, anyway). Anywhere.

And there’s something else I’ve been wanting to do to him since last night. (Or more likely, since I met him.)

I reach out to him across the table. “Can I kiss you?”

“ _No_ ,” Baz says. “Absolutely not.”

He yanks his hand away and I sit back in my chair. He’s even reaching for his wand like he’s going to curse me right here in the library. (I can’t believe I was _this_ wrong about how he felt; I can’t believe Penny was.) I didn’t even bring my wand, so it’s not like I could fight back, even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I _really_ don’t want to fight.

Baz doesn’t look angry though, he just looks determined. He casts, **_“Nothing to see here,”_** around both of us. Then he drops his wand, grabs me by my tie, and yanks me forward over the table towards him. His expression is almost as feverish as it was yesterday.

“ _I’m_ kissing you," he tells me.

**BAZ**

Snow is excellent at kissing – obviously a lot more practiced at _this,_ than he is at sex proper. (Which isn’t to say he wasn’t good yesterday. He _was_ good. And if the kissing is anything to go by, I can probably say goodbye to my remaining braincells right now because Snow is going to fuck them out of me as soon as we find a bed.)

I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never kissed anyone before, but I know I want to do this. Snow’s lips are soft and warm, and the inside of his mouth is warmer. He lets me push my tongue into him so I can lick him from the inside – and then he pushes back and I let him. I let him kiss gently at my bottom lip and I let him ravage my mouth with his tongue.

I thought yesterday would be the best night of my life. The moment I came inside him with his blood in my mouth – and it does still rank highly amongst the least horrible parts of my existence. This is better, though. A hundred times better. Because it’s not limited to a single night, because I’m not dying, and he doesn’t have to.

This could be my life, now. Because Snow wants to be my boyfriend. He wants to subject me to his excellent kissing. He wants to do what we did yesterday, again, and who knows what else.

He has his hands in my hair. I’m pressing him down onto the library table with almost all of my weight and Snow is still trying to drag me closer. The flowers he brought me are getting crushed beneath him – the air smells of violets – and I want to stop and rescue them (Simon Snow brought me flowers; I should be carefully preserving them forever so I can remember this moment _forever_ ) and I don’t want to stop.

In the end Snow stops for me by turning his head to the side.

“So, we’re boyfriends now, yeah?” he asks breathlessly as I nuzzle at his exposed neck.

I laugh. The ridiculous, snorty laugh that happens sometimes when I’m too happy to pretend to be dignified. “Technically since you let me bite you, I think we’re mated for life.”

Snow stiffens beneath me. “You what?” He pushes me away and I slide back into my chair as he sits up on the desk. He’s frowning.

I roll my eyes. “It was on the _next_ page after the one you showed me, Snow. Don’t tell me you didn’t read that far?”

I can see him thinking about it. And I see him doubting – but just for a moment.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” he says firmly.

I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh, fuck off,” Snow says. “I’ve read that book twenty fucking times – it’s bullshit and you know it is.” 

I let myself grin and he takes my hand in one of his, brings in up to his lips – and then _bites_ down on one of my fingertips like a reprimand.

“Although I wouldn’t mind if it was true,” he says and then he actually pushes his mouth down my finger until he reaches the knuckle.

It’s shocking erotic – and the noise I make in response is entirely inappropriate for a public venue. Several students look round and even though their eyes still slide off me, it means I’ve lost concentration. I can’t rely on my spell to distract people from the things I want to do to Simon Snow.

I yank my hand back and hastily re-shelve the book I was reading. Then Simon and I have a quick disagreement about who gets to carry the flowers _(“I thought you didn’t like them,”_ he protests) (idiotically. Of _course_ , I like them) and I let him drag me out of the library, past the main desk.

“Careful,” the easily amused librarian calls after us jocularly. “He’s a vampire.”

“Yeah, I know,” Simon shouts back. “ _And_ he’s my boyfriend.”

I love him more than ever for saying it.


End file.
